This is the Way the World Ends
by qeasddsag
Summary: "What you're proposing is madness, sheer lunacy! The ramifications, should failure, disaster or malicious intent transpire will be incomprehensible", protested High Summoner Vessaria. "This issue is no longer your concern, Kolminye. I suggest you stand aside", a smug voice replied. "This is, after all, the legacy of the League. Either share in its destiny, or perish with the rest."
1. Journey's End

It had sleek, unequivocal edges and conscious, deliberate smoothness. Defined but rounded corners, echoing lattices that spoke of complexity beyond the surface, the pretty aesthetics.

It was a lustrous prism she held in her hand. Each face captured the radiance of the sun, and projected corresponding beams of focused light.

Lux sat under the sheltered canopy of a lone cedar on a hill overlooking Demacia's vast, idyllic expanses. Her mind drifted from the serenity of joyous memories trekking the colorful autumnal woods with her brother to picking wildflowers from Demacia's verdant pastures. Turning the object over in her hands, Lux wondered if she could immortalize those very experiences within the glowing confines of the prism's walls, reflecting infinitely, reminiscing from endlessly different angles.

A sudden breeze stirred Lux from her reverie. The prism she held had collapsed upon itself, its center filled no longer with mercurial luminous intensity, but rather an implacable, constant, dark singularity. The rolling plains of surrounding landscape dissolved, replaced by twisted visages, contorted, cackling grins. The tree under which Lux sat creaked and groaned, its splintering wood a deranged orchestra of horror.

Lux recoiled at the macabre sight, scrambling frantically away from the tree, dropping the shattered prism in her haste. She tore desperately through knee-high fields of wheat in an attempt to escape this madness, but found to her terror the wheat stalks had metamorphosed into jagged blades. In her struggle, malicious swords lacerated her skin, snapping scimitars and swaying rapiers clawing at the light mage. Lux, now bleeding profusely, saw in her blurry vision Garen, striding powerfully through the field of blades. As he approached her incapacitated form he spoke:

"It is the duty of the righteous to discipline the wicked. You have been found guilty; your negligence of duty to Demacia, your compassion for enemies of the state, and above all, your personal incompetence and weakness ... have caused this state of circumstance. For that, Luxanna Crownguard, your journey ends here."

Garen's zealous condemnation shocked Lux as much as his subsequent action. He raised his fearsome broadsword, made a brutal but precise downward swing, and just as the sword's edge connected -

Lux jolted. She was awake. Her mouth was full of ash, but had a tangy, metallic taste, probably of blood. Lux tried moving her limbs, and found they were responsive, but sluggish. Sitting up, she coughed some of the ash out of her mouth, examining herself for wounds. Satisfied none were life-threatening (and that harrowing dream was but a dream), Lux stopped to analyse the situation.

The delegation, the ambush, battle, then disarray ... Garen fighting to draw the monsters away from the convoy. Lux remembered being left for dead as the abominations razed the camp to ashes. It had become an entirely different military and geo-political climate; the attackers had been co-ordinated, almost hive-like in their unity, overwhelming the camp in swarms. Their predatory precision was most likely evolutionary, Lux concluded, but why the Voidborn targeted this small but well-armed Demacian convoy was beyond her.

"An appropriate line of action would be to rendezvous with Garen first", she thought. That would be no easy task given the dense foliage and treacherous terrain.

But Lux was determined to leave no stone unturned in her quest for answers.

* * *

Whew, writing is not as easy as most other writers would make it seem. Especially when it feels like I've written a lot, and end up with merely 500 words... Well this is just a starter for a fairly long epic covering most of the champions in the League, and chapters thereafter should be considerably longer, though provision for laziness should be taken into account. Will most probably include pairings.

Characters mentioned in this work are the property of Riot.


	2. The Rose

It wasn't the first time in her life Lux felt the world had devised some elaborate plot, conspired to set insidious motions against her. She was alone again. Her brother was missing in action. She was against seemingly insurmountable odds to complete her mission. Above these almost tired clichés however, was the mage's greatest apprehension, the singular fear of failure and weakness, the recurring motif of her nightmares reflected in reality.

* * *

After giving her respects to the slain and mutilated escorts at the site of the battle, Lux gathered her few belongings, striking out in the direction of devastation; it appeared her brother had given the attackers considerable inconvenience, judging by the wake of slashed tree trunks and snapped branches, some dangling low by their frazzled fibers, swaying slightly in the warm breeze.

Following this trail would no doubt lead to her brother's whereabouts. As Lux climbed over an overturned tree she felt a harsh tug on her balancing foot, as if some sprightly ethereal wire had wrapped itself briefly around her ankle. Having not anticipated this sudden tug, Lux toppled head-over-heels on the other side of the tree, rolling a little to soften the impact of the fall. Glancing back at the scene of her mishap, Lux discovered an entanglement of roots where she had set her foot, an entanglement she was sure had not been there earlier.

Lux knelt to examine the livid red-green growth when she felt a prick on the side of her neck. Turning her head, Lux found a scarlet rose in full bloom had materialized seemingly out of nowhere. The thorns on the stem of the rose had jabbed her when she crouched to scrutinize the roots. Something, or someone, was evidently toying with her.

"Reveal yourself!" Lux demanded.

As if on cue, hundreds of twisting vines burst from surrounding flora, aimed menacingly at the light mage. Lux recognized the school of magic and searched intently for the source. As the vines rapidly advanced on Lux however, she had little chance to resist the overwhelming tide of roots and whipvines from disarming her.

"Stop!" she cried in protest, "I am not your enemy!"

"I have no natural enemies", came a familiar yet distinctly unnerving voice. "There are only the predators ... and the prey", it continued, "But which are _you_?"

At last, Lux located the speaker, who sat in what appeared to be a rather regal throne of plants, hidden mostly by two hanging leaves. By some unheard command the emerald curtain parted, and the Rise of the Thorns revealed herself.

Lux felt rather vulnerable in front of her host. Without her staff in the semi-darkness of the forest floor, Lux's light based magic would be severely diminished. She could not trust in her own ability to escape, nor could she trust in Zyra's good hospitality. It was well known throughout the League that Zyra was a carnivorous plant-humanoid. Having only encountered the plant mage on a few occasions in the League, Lux was, despite her predicament, curious to find out more about this champion. Zyra stared at Lux with equal interest.

"I wander my domain for an evening stroll, and what do I see?" Zyra began, "A party of humans obviously in a hurry to be somewhere...but as I always say, why not stop to smell the roses?" Lux perceived the playful yet sardonic tone in Zyra's assertion, but had no time for petty banter.

"Why are you in this forest? What has happened to the League?" she inquired. "Did you come across a rampaging swarm of Voidborn across your territory?"

Lux knew better than to aggravate her captor, but her desire for answers spurred her on. "Did you see Garen? If so, where is he? Tell me, please, where he is!"

Zyra gazed at Lux as she replied deliberately, "Normally your behavior would be considered impertinent in your position. Indeed you are in no position to make such demands of me Luxanna. But, your presence in my forest, as well as that of the pestilent void creatures has captured my interest, and so, I will indulge your curiosity, if you do mine."

Lux did not know if she could trust Zyra, but it was obvious there was no choice. Lux was also aware of the strategic value of a fellow champion's aid. The limitations of the current situation dictated co-operation.

"Okay… I concede, what is it you wish to know?"

"Wise choice, little one," said Zyra, her eyes fixed on Lux.

* * *

Her captive looked little over eighteen or nineteen, but Zyra had heard all about Lux's prodigious capabilities from Demacians idly conversing in the Institute gardens. Her creepers and climbing ivy would whisper all the wild gossip, untold secrets, and intimate conversations thought lost to the privacy of silence. The Crownguard's abilities were one of the more intriguing tidbits Zyra had heard.

One could not imagine, for instance, that this vivacious young woman with sparkling, bright gold hair could fire a lethal ray of unimaginable radiance. Furthermore, Zyra wondered at the perilous feats Lux had performed in her history as a spy for Demacia. Her light, slender frame and keen, piercing cobalt eyes were certainly suited for covert operations, reflected Zyra. On the Fields however, her delicate, agile physique was no match for burlier, muscular duelists.

Seated on her throne, the plant mage drank in all the little details of the scene before her; the elegant Crownguard embossing on Lux's thin plated armor, the dark blue bodysuit visible at the armor's joints and sections requiring free movement, the sleek, ornate staff, now in the grasp of her vines. Most perplexing of all, however, was the expression on the blonde girl's face.

Anxiety was written her creased brows and brooding eyes, but Zyra's confrontation, it appeared, was not the cause for Lux's concern. Zyra recalled she had mentioned something about her brother, who was missing. She then began with her questioning.

"Let's start with this brother of yours then..."

Zyra reveled in her sense of control; it was the same sensation she felt when she summoned her seedlings from the darkness of the earth to the surface, culminating in a bright bloom of petals perhaps, or even a nest of thorns.

"Yes... tell me, why is dear Garen missing?" she asked. Zyra knew nothing about Garen beyond the fact he was a lumbering behemoth in the Rift, and took punishment without flinching even in the slightest. Zyra knew even less about the emotional and psychological attachments of familial relationships. Her conception of 'family' was limited to her microcosm of plants and assorted seeds. As such, she could not understand Lux's worry for her older brother.

"He... he was luring the monsters away from our camp, I think," answered Lux, timidly. She looked a bit uncertain. "Judging by his trail, he most probably experienced great difficulty dispatching those beasts, and since our company had not been diligent enough to have established a designated rendezvous... well, that's why I can't find him."

"The forest -" began Zyra, but she was abruptly interrupted by the impatient light mage,

"-Has eyes and ears?" pre-empted Lux eagerly, "So you can tell me where he is!"

Zyra laughed. Her catch was without doubt sharp, but naive. "No, I cannot," replied Zyra dismissively. Lux's anticipation dissolved. "But," continued Zyra, "my children, spreading as they are through this cozy forest, have come into sporadic contact with your brother. He is not light of foot, they tell me," Zyra remarked somewhat teasingly.

* * *

Lux could not help but smile weakly at her comment. It eased her slightly, reassuring her that Zyra was friendly, at least on a conversational level. Zyra's observation had been accurate. Garen was not the most graceful rose in the garden. In fact, he was more analogous to a tree of considerable age, in that he was sturdy, reliable and weathered. More importantly, he provided the emotional and physical shelter for those under him.

Drifting out of her digressional musings, Lux studied the plant mage. Zyra's apparent informality surprised her; it was a clear departure from her presence on the Fields, where she fought with a sinister, but vaguely enthusiastic disposition. Zyra was lithe, almost supple, and in a way, her movements reflected that, such elegant motions that seemed to emulate the swaying of a plant, bending and wavering like a flower in gentle wind.

She had the most vibrant crimson hair, arranged in sharp, slick strands, and unfathomable emerald eyes. Her lips always seemed to form a satisfied smirk, and there was a lively attentiveness in her pointed ears.

Lux had lost her train of thought in examining the plant mage. Zyra certainly had alluring appearances, but this only made her all the more dangerous.

"You said your plants may help me trace my brother's location. What more do you want to know?" Lux said impatiently.

"Why are you … here?" asked Zyra, as she gestured majestically from the overhanging canopy to the dim forest floor. "I have not encountered any other champions on the route from the Bubbling Bog. This forest - Thistlemist, you humans call it? - is just a stopover on my route back to Kumungu."

"I could ask you the very same question," came the pert reply. Lux also wondered what business Zyra had in the Bubbling Bog, a humid, murky moor just north of Demacia.

"I thought I'd prolong my visit here, seeing as I enjoyed Thistlemist's cooler climates… Though mind you, I have no intention of settling here. One has to spread one's roots every now and then," Zyra explained. "But enough about me, I want to know more about _you_."

"Well…" began Lux uncertainly. This was an area of confidentiality; reveal only what you must, she thought. "His majesty Prince Jarvan the IV has ordained a delegation to be sent across Valoran to re-establish communications between various factions and city states. Freljord was the first destination."

She had revealed too much. She had been too trusting. There was no way to peer beyond those predatory olive eyes, to ascertain Zyra's underlying intentions. Not yet, at least.

"I'm coming with you."

Lux looked up, confused. "I shall accompany you, and I won't take no for an answer. Gather your belongings. We find Garen first," commanded Zyra.

_This _was an unexpected turn of events, Lux contemplated.

* * *

Second chapter, reviews and critque would be appreciated!


	3. Secrets

Lux peered over the smouldering remains of the campfire at Zyra, asleep in her leafy cocoon suspended between two trees (much like an elegant hammock). She felt like a mess. While Zyra had slept soundly the last two nights, Lux woke from time to time to the fading echoes of dreams.

This time, Zyra stirred from her slumber, stretched with a yawn, then looked at Lux with concern.

"Can't sleep, Luxanna? This is the third time, is it not?"

Lux was surprised and a little embarrassed that Zyra had been watching her restless sleep. She didn't want to display any symptoms of weakness in front of her travelling companion, anything that could be exploited.

Zyra looked down at the light mage, who shivered slightly in the chilly night air. "You have nothing to fear from those pitiful insects, my dear," spoke Zyra soothingly, "Though you might not hear the rustling nightlife of this forest, rest assured, my pretties feel the beating of each heart that strays near our camp."

Lux sighed. "It's not security I'm worried about… It's just … none of this happened the way I thought it would."

She stared at her hands as if she were divining some overarching truth in the brutality of the world.

"What weighs heavy on your mind, Luxanna?" asked Zyra.

"Please, call me Lux. 'Luxanna' is a past I have long abandoned," requested the blonde.

"I shall prod no further if this is a sensitive subject for you, _Lux_."

"No, it's fine," Lux replied, looking earnestly at Zyra, "Who knows, perhaps retelling my story could have some cathartic effect."

The Rise of the Thorns sat with the eagerness of a child listening to a wandering minstrel. "You have my full attention."

* * *

The clouds were blood-red splatters across the waxen backdrop of sky. It was the only omen of an apocalypse unforetold. Demacia's metropolitan architecture; its magnificent towers, smooth concrete domes, and stone pillars crumbled in the unrelenting shockwaves of calamity.

The first set of quakes levelled most residential properties. Many citizens flocked to the shelter of Demacia's vast city halls.

The second set of quakes created a rolling tremor that threatened to destabilize Demacia's more enduring structures from underneath. Demacian summoners were called upon to dampen the shuddering through magic. With the arrival of a series of aftershocks, all Demacian champions were promptly sent home to provide aid and relief.

Countless Demacians were left homeless in the wake of the tremors. Order in the quintessential city-state of virtue and justice was crushed under the rubble of its foundations.

The Lightshield monarchy was overthrown by chaotic bickering between factions of all proclivities. In the end, however, order (or a thin veneer of order) was restored by Prince Jarvan Lightshield the Fourth, who succeeded his weary father, and under whom rallied those who still had faith in Demacia's traditional values.

But the chaos did not stop there. Revolutionaries who refused to uphold the banner of Jarvan's New Demacian Provisional Government were exiled under the justification they would destabilize the fragile peace of New Demacia.

Communications with the League and other city-states were down in the days following the disaster. Scouts were sent to report on the condition of other major Valoran cities, but none returned. When inter-factionary disputes ceased under Jarvan's command, some merchants resumed business, and sent their caravans overland along key trade routes to Demacia's trading partners. But every caravan that left New Demacia inexplicably disappeared, fuelling rumours of massacres and gruesome remains of convoys.

It was eventually decided by the authorities to halt outgoing travel due to these mysterious disappearances. Any incoming traffic was also to be questioned about the state of affairs outside New Demacia. The city, however, remained trapped in its isolated vacuum, as no one approached its imposing gates.

The democratically elected government had other concerns amongst these tragic tales. Teleportation networks interconnecting New Demacia with the League and its key allies remained inoperable for weeks. After a passing fortnight, Jarvan ordered a division of the Dauntless Vanguard to conduct a comprehensive assessment of the post-apocalyptic situation, and to, if possible, re-establish contact with the League and other city-states.

Merely hours after their departure, a member of the unit was spotted approaching New Demacia's gates. He was grievously wounded, his arms sporting wide, bleeding gashes, his face drenched in blood and perspiration. He was admitted through the gates in secret.

The report he gave to his commanding officer was at first bizarre and unbelievable, met by scepticism from senior New Demacian officers. He spoke of a monstrous creature with the dimensions of a Piltoverian automatic-mobile, serrated barbs and vicious claws, and a most uncanny resemblance to the League champions that originated from the Void.

Subsequent units verified this information, with only a few survivors returning each time. The leadership agreed to withhold the existence of these creatures from the public, for fear of stirring mass hysteria. Instead, Jarvan declared the vast majority of Valoran unsafe due to roaming bandits and Noxian militants. New Demacians reluctantly accepted this justification, though many were doubtful of its veracity.

Passing weeks became months, but dread of the world outside New Demacia remained firmly embedded in its denizens' everyday lives. The demand for food and other scarce resources forced Jarvan's administration to reclaim surrounding agricultural sections under military supervision; such was the fear of the unspoken horrors.

Half a year after The Great Calamity, as it became known, the New Demacian Provisional Government faced mounting tension from its citizens; corruption by a group of government officials who hoarded food and other commodities from the public was unmasked. The public began to question the authority of the incumbent leadership.

Jarvan recognized the need for tactful appeasement to suppress anarchy, a policy that would start with the re-establishment of contact with the League and other city-states. A large detachment would not be feasible due to shortage of food and supplies. It was subsequently decided a small force of elite Dauntless Vanguard led by none other than Garen Crownguard would proceed in a circular route around Valoran, visiting each city-state.

The delegation included two negotiators to be responsible for drafting agreements of co-operation between city-states, as well as handling policy discussions on behalf of the New Demacian Provisional Government.

* * *

Lux ended her tale with a sarcastic flourish; "And '_Voila'_, as Fiora would say, here I am."

There was a brief silence as Zyra seemed to absorb this information, corroborating Lux's back-story with her own.

"So where do you fit into this delicate political ploy, Lux?" enquired Zyra.

"Me…? Oh, I made a kind of arrangement with Garen…" replied Lux, "I guess I got bored of being confined in New Demacia, told them I could help with negotiations…"

Lux trailed off and looked at the ground somewhat awkwardly.

"But what's _your_ story?" she quickly stammered.

"Well, convenience or coincidence found me at Kaladoun at the moment of the calamity. I grew tired of the scenery, so I migrated south, only to find these vile abominations everywhere."

Lux raised an eyebrow at Zyra's comparatively succinct explanation. She was sure Zyra was concealing information from her, but for what purpose, she could not determine. Lux had disclosed her nation's context; she felt entitled to Zyra's personal background, which, truth be told, wasn't asking for much.

Zyra caught Lux's questioning look, and leaned back into the softness of her leafy hammock. "You should sleep. The trail only grows more and more arduous."

The murky skies were without stars and moonlight, motionless as the dead.

* * *

Had some trouble weaving more exposition into plot movement without breaking immersion. Any other method of detailing background seemed inappropriate… the dull storytelling should only be a temporary measure. Set for some action next chapter. Tell me what you think about the story thus far!


	4. Pursuit

Lux paused to refill her water flask from a nearby stream and obtain her bearings; from her admittedly speculative calculations, they were nearing the outskirts of Thistlemist, just north-east of New Demacia's outer territories. The trees began to thin out as they progressed, admitting warm rays of sunlight through the tree lines that danced with mercurial brightness on the stream's sparkling surface.

Upon reflection, Lux was fortunate to have encountered Zyra on her journey. She was appreciative of her elder's assistance and expertise; Zyra skillfully acquired food - both of the inanimate and animate variety - and provided a firm sense of direction in tracking Garen's passage. Furthermore, Lux was out of her element in the rugged wilderness. Though Thistlemist was unlike the dense, choking jungles of Kumungu, it was certainly a far cry from the comfortable accommodation of the League.

While Lux stumbled not ungracefully over the roots blanketing the forest floor, her light armor proving more hindrance than help, Zyra seemed to walk the trail with nimble poise. She taught Lux to step with purpose, but to identify and navigate hidden lines of least resistance.

In this sense, Zyra's guidance was invaluable, giving Lux the endurance to remain on the move, even after hours of trekking.

But Lux was most appreciative of the company Zyra provided. Her presence was the uncertain anchor to civilisation, the delicate tether to sanity in otherwise overwhelming circumstances. _Zyra, for the untamed wilderness she embodies, has the rather ironic ability to conjure a semblance of peaceful civility, if only through social interaction_, mused the young mage.

"Ah! Lux, there are some signs of struggle," spoke Zyra, "We should make haste."

Lux worriedly examined the menacing footprints of the assaliants before quickly jogging after her companion.

* * *

Garen's chest heaved with exertion; the Might of Demacia had been running at a blistering pace for countless hours, occasionally turning to exchange frantic blows with his pursuers.

Each stride was a monumental effort. Each swing of his broadsword was an agonizing exercise. Running was futile. He could not outpace the monsters. They had an unearthly stamina, an alien constitution driven by some unimaginable hunger or urge.

Garen could smell the acrid breath of one Voidborn as he dove into a particularly thick clump of brush.

* * *

The lead Voidborn, distinguishable from the other four under its command, sported a row of ochre spines, terminating in razor-sharp tips. It emitted a series of clicks from its insectoid mandibles as its mark disappeared into the undergrowth.

Three of the lesser Voidborn immediately responded by scurrying to the other side of the dense brush, surrounding it completely from all sides. The flanking maneuver created a secure boundary making escape impossible. The last Voidborn settled into a crouching position facing the brush, its hind legs folded neatly under its pastel-brown carapace.

The plates on its back armor parted to reveal an organic but distinctly alien projectile launcher, loaded with a set of glowing orange missiles.

Its hexagonal compound eyes quivered with anticipation.

* * *

Garen examined this variation of species through the thick leaf cover, noting grimly the _director_ and _artillery_ Voidborn permutations, breeds never encountered in his past expeditions. He was certain the crouching Voidborn would launch its missiles to flush him out of cover to be intercepted by the surrounding Voidborn.

Garen inwardly commended his foes for their physical prowess, as well as their sudden growths in intelligence. But he knew this fight was not over. The Voidborn underestimated his determination; they would not understand his resolve, and the monsters would be instilled with an equally monstrous fear of Demacia's righteousness.

Steeling his nerves and drawing upon his desperate reserves of energy, Garen burst from the brush in an audacious pre-emptive attack.

* * *

The artillery form tensed its spinal musculature as it prepared to unleash a barrage of explosives into the brush.

**DEMACIAAAAA**

A powerfully built human in battered royal blue and gold armor burst from the thicket bellowing in its native tongue a most intimidating war cry, recklessly spinning his heavy broadsword in continuous circles, a gyrating dervish of metal and flesh.

Chipped steel met bony plates under the din of confused battle. Two of the Voidborn underlings were swiftly beheaded, the edge of Garen's sword slipping under their loose, uncovered necks.

Corrosive, acidic blood splashed onto the ground in sickly, sizzling puddles. Garen noticed his weapon was stained with the alien substance, the metal rapidly devoured by acid.

The remaining underling hurled itself at Garen, intent on impaling him with its many spikes, while the supervisor Voidborn used the diversion to scuttle quietly behind Garen.

The Might of Demacia felt the absence of the creatures' leader, but more importantly, he heard the maneuvering of their supervisor. Though his senses were dulled by the prolonged chase, Garen's inexhaustible zeal compensated for physical fatigue, granting him that critical edge.

Making a split-second, bold decision, he met the charging underling head on, but instead of colliding with the Voidborn, Garen launched himself into a clunky dive, rolling under his opponent.

The supervisor, in an attempt to co-ordinate a simultaneous two-pronged assault with its subordinate, leaped towards Garen's exposed back, before Garen made his counterplay.

Neither creature anticipated Garen's daring, albeit clumsy acrobatics. As the underling soared over Garen in its furious tackle, Garen completed his roll, ending up on his back. In that very motion he simultaneously pumped both his legs against the Voidborn's underside, delivering a blow of significant force.

The underling's momentum and the force of Garen's kick sent it flying uncontrollably towards the supervisor Voidborn.

The mid-air impact left the supervisor crushed under the weight of the underling, and the underling gored by the spines of its superior.

The artillery form that had, until this point, struggled to aim at its target without causing _too much _collateral damage understood the tides had turned, and made its hasty retreat in the aftermath of the battle.

Garen dropped his disfigured sword, and promptly collapsed in exhaustion.

* * *

Some (much needed?) action after a lot of ambiguity and context. The scenes feel... short. I think I may have issues with writing more substance. This chapter was a bit rushed to be honest.


	5. Out of the Woods, onto the Wasteland

Garen opened his cracked and weary eyes to the darkness of an overcast night sky. His sister's safety was his first thought, then the probability of his mission's success. His injuries came a distant third. He had been without food and water for two days.

His muscles groaned in protest as he struggled to stand. A sickening crack filled the air as Garen shifted his weight onto his left leg. _Out of commission_, he thought. _I'm going to have to court-martial you later for incompetence and dereliction of duty_.

Evening condensation on the leaves of hanging plants provided a quenching trickle of water for his bloody lips. A handful of magenta berries growing on a shrub, which Garen identified from _Malcom Post's Demacian Wilderness Varieties (Third Edition)_, would be his dinner tonight.

After satisfying his basic needs, Garen turned to unresolved issues. He knew the delegation's camp had been razed; by the time he drew the Voidborn's attention away from the non-combatants, the tents were ablaze and his contingent dead or dying.

Garen thought hard, applying the post-combat evaluation strategies from the Dauntless Vanguard teachings. Lux would not remain at the ruined camp; it would be the first place the Voidborn would search to pick off surviving stragglers. Therefore Garen would not return there. His left leg was broken, so he was of little mobility anyway. The fact that he was lost did not help. He was also essentially unarmed, as his mighty broadsword was now little more than dull, bent metal.

Garen processed the situation. The appropriate action to take …

…

There was no appropriate action. He was in a real mess.

The truth hit him like a denting blow from Vi's gauntlets. Garen was flabbergasted. Demacia had not provided him with an answer.

Suddenly, he heard voices – a pair, their conversation drifting from upwind. He strained his ears to catch the words.

"This substance has a very surreal glow, particularly prominent at night, and judging by the smell, is probably corrosive!"

_High-pitched and excited female voice, unlikely to be a threat unless baiting. Otherwise foolish not to be following military protocol_, he thought.

"Yes … eerie and unnatural. I abhor everything about Void… … upset ecological balance … their invasive … What do you think …?"

_More subdued and … exotic, female, not a New Demacian, but not Noxian either. Couldn't make out some of her words._

"Wait…" whispered Garen to himself, realization dawning on his face, "Lux?!"

As his soft exclamation left his mouth, the duo passed Garen's hiding place, a soft, luminous glow accompanying them. Garen looked out from the brush and saw his sister … and Zyra.

"Lux!" he called, waving his gauntleted hand.

His sister squeaked in surprise, jumping a little at the sudden exclamation.

"G-Garen?!"

Lux dashed over to Garen, and embraced him with teary eyes.

"I-I thought you'd died there were so many of them I di-didn't know if you were alr-right you made me so worried you…"

Lux looked at Garen with sorrowful joy. Garen returned the look with an assured, but relieved smile.

"Sister, I thought the very same thing. Remember, as your brother, I would never abandon you or forsake you to danger… Err… well, apart from … y'know, leaving the camp… um."

Garen rubbed his head foolishly. "But I'm the one who must look after you, Lux. Never should you fear for me, you know I'm tougher than that," he recovered.

"Brother, I'm not ten anymore, but I appreciate your concern. Where are you injured?"

"Tch! So quick to assume that I am injured! Am I not a soldier of Demacia? What do I know of injury?" protested Garen with mock indignation.

"Okay then, if you're not injured then let us continue on our merry way," remarked Lux teasingly.

"Alright, alright." Garen put up his hands. "You win, you get to take care of your brother for once. My left leg is broken. But before you attend to it, won't you remember your manners, or didn't mother teach you any?" he said with a smile.

"Introduce me to your friend," gestured Garen, to the Rise of the Thorns who had in this reunion stood inconspicuously out of sight.

"Zyra, I didn't know you had tact!" Lux quipped, "I thought you would have loved to poke and prod into this _tender family moment._"

Garen could tell the two were close enough to be on joking terms, but he himself was uncomfortable in the presence of a stranger.

"Look, I have access to herbs and remedies for your brother's wounds, but at this rate, he'll only receive a handful of thorns," responded Zyra sharply.

"I was joking," retracted Lux, "You are as well, I hope?"

"Not in the slightest."

Zyra looked supremely unamused. She stared harshly at Lux's apologetic expression, then at Garen, before breaking into a wide smile.

"Haha, you Crownguards are all too easy to fool."

"If only because your sense of humor is really quite … unique," retorted Lux, "You still have much to learn about sensitivity and moderation."

She turned back to Garen, assessing his wounds with a critical eye while quietly scolding him for his carelessness. "How could you think of taking on five of them by yourself? Don't you know you have limits too?"

"You're sounding a lot like mother," remarked Garen dryly.

Lux reddened. "Never mind that, just tell me what happened that night. We've never seen them grouped and acting in unison."

"Yes," Garen began, "That disturbs me greatly. You've read the reports from the preliminary expeditions, Luxanna."

He began counting the key briefing points on his fingers. "Lone Voidborn roaming the countryside."

Lux continued the list with disinterest. "Semi-intelligent but otherwise predictable behavioral patterns, extremely vicious on approach, scattered arbitrarily across Valoran, often moving from one territory to another… and so on and so forth."

A look of apathy crossed her face as she repeated information she knew all too well already. "Garen, we have a vague understanding of their nature and tendencies, but nothing of their origin and recent growth in intelligence."

She politely asked Zyra for a dressing and splint, and began tending to her brother's leg.

"Well, what happened that night probably won't address the gaps in our knowledge, but I should go over it again, for sake of clarity." Garen attempted to make himself comfortable as he told his side of the story. "Two days ago … was it? It was the night shift rotation. Yes, Fletcher, Sigmund and Tanael were on guard at the time. I saw Fletcher running into the camp with ***ouch*** a look of absolute terror."

* * *

The night guard's face was pallid, his pupils dilated and anxious. He struggled to catch his breath and explain the situation, sputtering in broken sentences.

"Report!"

"Sir, its Sigmund … *wheeze* his body found in river *cough* probably carried downstream by current … absolutely savaged … think it was one of those-those things…" gasped Fletcher.

Garen could hear the soldier's thumping heart as he tried to control his own. He expected contact with the Voidborn, but so early in the journey? Most of his company had experience with the creatures, being the haunted veterans of earlier expeditions, but this would be his sister's first encounter with them.

He tried to keep an expression of composed assurance. "Take me to the body, and Douglas, alert the camp."

Douglas, the second-in-command quickly left to wake the other soldiers. Garen, on the other hand, collected his weapons and torches, then followed the sentry into the night. After a short jog, they arrived at a small dug-out where Tanael stood vigil over the corpse of his fallen comrade.

Kneeling to inspect Sigmund's wounds, Garen immediately recognized the brutal swipes made by Voidborn claws, and a fatal gaping hole where the soldier's stomach used to be, entrails splayed unceremoniously over his body. Garen wiped his furrowed brow and stood, announcing grimly to his sentries; "Prepare for immediate engagement. If the Voidborn continues to roam this area, I'm sure it will come across the camp."

"But we must remember," spoke Garen with an unfaltering tone; "with our vigilance and the spirit of Demacia it will be an easy task to dispatch a lone Void abomination."

Though fear was evident in the soldiers' looks, their commander's words gave them hope and reassurance.

The three made hurried back to camp, only to find the other soldiers oblivious to the imminent danger. "Where's Douglas?" demanded Garen, angrily. One of the few soldiers awake explained that Douglas was last seen running away from the camp.

Garen swore at the deserter. "Warn everyone else, NOW, before the monster attacks us with our weapons down!"

As the soldiers left to rouse their allies from their slumber, the Voidborn attacked. And there was not one, but five of them. Faces contorted in terror and surprise, too many soldiers fell even before drawing their weapons.

Garen knew there wasn't enough time to wake up the rest of the camp. He gathered his courage and ran towards the attackers, roaring his signature battle cry.

* * *

"I managed to annoy their leader enough to attract its attention," explained Garen, conveying to his audience of two that a blow to the head with a claymore wasn't likely to get anyone to like you.

"That was that, I fought them off," he said simply. "One Voidborn, which I believe was a ranged incarnation escaped," concluded Garen.

Lux finished with Garen's makeshift splint, her hands smeared with Garen's blood.

"So where to now?" asked Garen, after a short silence.

"Well… once we're out of Thistlemist, you can circle around the forest back to New Demacia, where doctors can treat your broken leg."

"Nonsense, Luxanna. Perseverance is all I need. Give it a few days, it'll be fine."

Lux scoffed at her brother's dedication to the mission. "You're in no state to fight, Garen, and I know you hate to hear me say this, but you will only be a liability if you continue with us."

The plant mage backed Lux's argument; "Lux and I have agreed to continue to Freljord, avoiding as much unnecessary conflict as possible."

"Just the two of you?" snapped Garen, "I absolutely forbid it!"

"Brother, you know perfectly well in your current condition you won't be able to stop us if you tried. We won't follow the main roads, so you can't possibly follow us cross-country."

"But my duty to Demacia-"

"Grow up, Garen," interrupted Lux in exasperation. "Don't put your petty loyalty to Demacia above your life."

"How could you Luxanna? How could you abandon everything the Measured Tread has taught you? The values and principles upon which Demacia stands?"

Garen fumed with outrage, but Lux would have none of it. "I'm not forsaking the historic values of our homeland, merely _amending_ them to give them relevance under these challenging circumstances."

"It's not a revolution, brother, just a paradigm-shift."

She looked into his eyes and implored for him to understand.

"All the same, I feel guilty being unable to serve," sighed Garen.

"It's getting late. Garen, you need the rest, and-" Lux yawned, "so do I."

* * *

"Up ahead, we're almost there."

Garen pointed forward and beckoned Lux and Zyra to follow. "Come on."

Lux observed the sunlight that managed to penetrate Thistlemist's treeline. It didn't have the radiant brilliance of natural sunlight; it felt foreign, artificial, like industrial-strength Zaunite fluorescent lighting. Beyond those slanting rays on the forest floor would be the open Valoran wilderness. It would be her first glimpse of the land outside Demacia in the post-apocalypse.

She couldn't tell whether she was more excited or more apprehensive.

As the trio passed the last few trees that marked Thistlemist's boundary from the wilderness near the Serpentine River, the first thing Lux felt was the wind. It was forceful, unfriendly. It blew brusquely against her face, whipping messily at her hair.

The second thing the young mage felt was the brokenness of the ground below her. It was uneven, cracked by small fault lines running across it like ugly veins.

The last thing she felt was immense sadness. She looked up at the open sky. It looked as if it had been torn apart, with dark, heavy scars marring its sallow, sickly grey hue.

_Where had the world gone?_

* * *

Bleh, tell me what you think. I'm still new to writing, writing is hard. Any suggestions on how to improve quality or style would be appreciated.


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